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Category: Unexplained

In Search of Elves

This has been a big day for me in a lot of ways.  First, it’s the 30th Anniversary of the disappearance of a good friend of mine from my childhood.  He was a big influence in my life and I’ve been mourning his disappearance all morning.  The anniversary is a big reminder to me that life is too short – for us mortal humans at least – and I have to make the most of mine.

Another big piece of news came to me a couple of hours ago.  My good friend Paradox has been secretly prepping to shoot a feature length documentary.  He has his bags packed and he leaves for his first destination later this week.  He’s been keeping up with my current life journey and he thought now would be the perfect time for me to spread my wings and fly.  He has asked me to join him on his quest to unlock the secret lives of the Elves.  

He has asked me to keep the specifics of our journey under wraps.  He believes that if we say too much it might tip off the wrong people.  I am lucky he has permitted me to say as much as I have.

Because of confidentiality I won’t be able to give you a play by play account of what we are doing, for that I apologize.  I can say that we are bound for destinations around the world.  We will be gone for at least four months and probably longer.  I’m going to be very busy in that time but maybe I’ll be able to toss in the occasional post as an update as to how I’m doing?  I’m not sure yet.

For all of you who have followed my blog I’d like to thank you.  I also want you to know that I will be back and I’m sure I’ll have a lot to report.  Wish us good luck.

– Bear Hunter



A Lost Friend

Tomorrow will mark the 30th Anniversary of the disappearance of a close childhood friend of mine.  He vanished one night never to be seen again.  I knew him since the age of five, he was my best friend.  When I felt all alone he was there to comfort me.  When I felt like there was no one who would listen he was there to lend an ear.

I remember the last time I saw him.  He was afraid and I didn’t know why.  I have thought about him from time to time over the years, he was never far from my heart.  I’ve seen him in my dreams alive and smiling.

My life is changing drastically and his memory has a lot to do with that.  He vanished out into the unknown and I shall follow.  The mystery behind his disappearance isn’t the only mystery that haunts me.  I need answers.

To my long lost friend, I hope to see you once more.  I believe that you are still out there.  Till next we meet.

– Bear Hunter

Christmas Intruder: Part 2.

When I left off a 5-year-old Space Case had snuck out of his room on Christmas Eve to grab a glass of water from the kitchen.  When he entered the hallway between his bedroom and the kitchen he was struck by a mysterious wall of thick air.  For an instance the boy felt as if time had stopped.  He stumbled into the kitchen as the air thinned out.

Space Case stood still, body tight against the stove which supported his weight.  He turned his head slightly as he heard the thuds of boots cross the length of the living room at the other end of the hall.  He wondered if it could be his father, still drunk and stumbling around lost in search of the bathroom… then he heard the cough.  Deep and raspy, nothing like his father’s surprisingly girlish squeak of a cough.

Scared, Space Case continued to hug the stove.  He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t heard anything outside of the living room, the house was as silent as a cemetery.  He heard the cough followed by a deep clearing of the throat and a whispered “fucking mucous.”

The voice resonated through Space Case’s small body.  All he could remember, while standing alone in that cold dark kitchen, was his father’s protocols.  With all of his might, SC forced himself away from the stove and began a brisk tiptoe back in the direction of his room.  He needed to reach his sister; once he found her the both of them would climb through the window and make their way to the muster station.  There they would meet up with the rest of the family.

Luckily, the path from the kitchen to his bedroom didn’t cross in front of the living room.  SC snuck into his room, cautious not to shut the door completely lest it make a noise and tip off the intruder.

Once inside Space Case rushed over to the side of Sally’s bed.  He carefully folded back Sally’s blanket and sheets.  He gave her a gentle nudge, she didn’t move.  He gave her another nudge and nothing.  SC ran over to his bed and reached underneath it.  He came out from under the bed with a flashlight grasped tight in his little hand.  He rushed over to his sister’s bedside and flashed the light in her face, it didn’t wake her.  All he could do was stare at the blank expression on her face.  She was still, her face was still, her chest was still; Sally wasn’t breathing.  In a panic SC attempted what little CPR he could remember.  He was five, how was he supposed to remember how to resuscitate someone?

Space Case tried to breath into his sister’s mouth but the air merely blew out in every direction but the one he intended; it was as if there was a force of bubble in her throat preventing air from entering.  SC shined the flashlight into her mouth and peered down her throat, there was no visible obstruction.  All SC could do was to stare at his lifeless sister as tears ran down his face.  There was no protocol for this, he had no idea what to do.  He could hear objects being moved around in the living room and all he could think to do was weep.

The only idea that came into Space Case’s mind was to run to his parents.  In order to reach their room he would have to walk straight past the living room.  His mind was in a panic, he broke into a mad dash out of his room and into the hall.  His legs took on a life of their own… as did the carpet.  His right foot hit a wrinkle in the carpet and his feet became snagged.  With the full momentum of his body behind him SC dove into the floor face first.  He slammed into the floor at full force and was launched into a roll.  Space Case lay flat on the floor in pain but was too terrified to let out of single whimper.

Space Case kept his eye shut tight.  He could hear boot steps drawing closer.  They stopped and Space Case braced himself… nothing happened.  The sting of tears forced his eyes open.  The first thing he saw where the outlines of thick leather boots a mere foot away from his head.  The lamps in the living room were turned on bathing the stranger in a halo of faint light.  Space Case slowly looked up the length of the man.

The stranger was tall and had broad shoulders.  He wore a long red cloak and a red hat atop his head.  A long greyish white beard hung down to his mid-chest.  A long straight scar ran vertical across the weathered skin of his cheek.  The man looked down at SC with an unblinking stare.  SC had a hard time remembering what he saw in the man’s eyes.  He can’t be sure but he believes it was confusion.

The aging man began to learn forward as he bent down.  His face drew closer to Space Case’s, his eyes narrowing into a squint.

The young boy let out a scream that made his throat burn.  He pushed off the floor with all limbs and ran in the direction of his parent’s room.  He slammed against the door but recovered quickly.  SC yanked the door open and ran into his parent’s room.  As he swung the door shut SC caught a glimpse of the man staring at him without emotion.  Space Case locked the door and ran over to his parent’s bed.

He ripped the blankets and sheets away from the bed as he screamed out to his parents.  He scream and he begged but neither of his parents would wake.  He knew the man was still out in the hall, he could hear him coughing.  He ran to the bedroom wall and flipped on the lights.  Like Sally, her parents laid stiff; neither of them let out a single breath of air.  A cough from outside the room caused SC to leap away from the wall.  He ran over to the closet and threw himself inside.  He closed the door, threw his parent’s clothing down on top of himself, and closed his eyes tight.

Space Case lost track of time as he laid there alone shivering.  He does remember that strange thick air filling up the closet and being unable the breath.  The rest of the night was a blur.  The next thing Space Case remembers was the blinding light of the sun when the closet door was opened the next day.  His mother stood above him looking down in shock.  His father was still in bed and was snoring away.  SC described the events of the previous night to his mother.  She tried to convince SC that he was only having a night terror, that everyone was alright and that it was Christmas.

Space Case would have believed his mother had it not been for the look of shock that returned to her face the moment they walked into the living room.  Under their small tree was a massive pile of presents.  Space Case can’t remember what items laid beneath his tree because the moment his mother laid eyes on that pile she pulled him out of the room and ran to wake his father.  By noon the living room had been cleared of all items not purchased by his parents.  He never did get to see what was in those packages or learn what his father had done with them.

That night remained a mystery to Space Case up until a few years ago.  Before the passing of his father Space Case would visit him at the nursing home.  His father was not well physically and the sharpness of his mind would come and go.  During one visit, when his father was reasonable lucid, SC decided to ask him about that strange Christmas and what had happened to those presents.  The simple mention of those presents caused his father’s skin to lose it’s colour.  His father remembered that day like it was yesterday.

There had been no sign of a break and enter when the Captain had entered the living room that Christmas morning.  The police found no fingerprints.  The Captain – who was very hungover –  had panicked before the police had arrived.  In his disoriented state of mind he had loaded the presents into his wheel barrel and wheeled them out into the nearby bush.  He dumped them into a fire-pit and lit a match.  The presents caught fire quickly.  All would have been well if not for the piercing wail that shot forth from the flames.  Cries of agony.  The Captain turned towards the fire and saw a small form attempting to climb free from the rubble as it let out a horrible screeching wail.  The Captain didn’t hang around to see what it was.

Shaking in his seat the Captain told his soon the tale.  Till this day, Space Case often thinks about that Christmas and wonders what was in those packages.  He is one man who has never stopped believing in Santa Claus, only he isn’t sure if the reality matches the myth.  What was in those packages?  I would like to know that exact same thing myself.

– Bear Hunter

creepy hands silhouette shadows creep monochrome 1920x1080 wallpaper_www.wall321.com_96


Christmas Intruder: Part One.

The tragic events at the end of my trip to Korea and the heavy workload that met me on my return have kept me really busy.  Luckily, my contract is up in a week and 99% of my work is complete.  Construction on the bridge has been scheduled for six months down the line.  They wanted to extend my contract to help oversee the construction but I declined.  Let another engineer take on the stress, I’m done.  After a lot of soul searching I’ve decided I’m destined for greater things.  That’s all I wish to talk about that.

The stress of everything that has been going on has taken it’s toll on me.  Last night I contacted a friend of mine by phone and just sat back and listened to his stories.  He’s also a member of the community and he likes to go under the alias Space Case.

Like Paradox, Space Case has lived an interesting life.  Like me, he’s experienced events in his past that he can’t explain and that has lead him on a path few dare fellow.

His stories kept me both distracted and intrigued.  One amongst the rest hit a nerve.  I can’t fully express why.  It had to do with his childhood, a Christmas like none other.  Space Case was five-years-old.  He grew up in a lower-middle-class family.  He had three sisters and he was the youngest child.  His family lived in a small house in a port town not too far from the town’s ship yards.  With three girls and a young boy, Space Case’s parents were particularly protective.  SC was trained in the arts of caution and avoidance.  His father would hold drills three times a week on emergency procedures with strict protocols, all four children were tested.  SC’s father was a Captain on a fishing vessel and he only felt secure taking leave with the knowledge that his family could take care of themselves under any circumstance.

The 5-year-old Space Case prided himself on his diligence.

Christmas that year was as somber as most.  SC’s family did the best they could to endure the holidays.  SC’s mother did the best she could to spread cheer throughout the household.  She was deafly afraid that her children would suffer from envy towards more fortunate children if she didn’t give them reason to be grateful.  What she didn’t realize was that her kids found her faked enthusiasm to be exhausting, all but SC, he enjoyed any cheer he could get ahold of.

The reason for the gloom had to do with their small town’s poor yield of fish over the last couple of years.  Even a ship’s Captain could barely pull in enough of a share to see his family through.

That Christmas Eve SC’s mother read her children a condensed version of “The Christmas Carol” while his father indulged in enough egg nog to cause him to pass out in his seat.  Maybe a story about redemption and spirits on a cold and dark winter night wasn’t the best choice but the cheery ending was enough to create a feeling of comfort and wonder in the kids.

Once his mother had completed the story she sent the kids off to their respected rooms.  Space Case returned to the bedroom he shared with his 7-year-old sister Sally.  Sally tucked her little brother in, kissed him on the forehead and jumped into bed herself.  They could hear their mother in the other room struggling to help their father back onto his feet and drag him off into bed.  SC figured it would have been a real buzz-kill for the kids to run down the stairs in the morning only to see their father passed out on the floor with a thick coat of drool plastered on his face.  He was grateful that his mother spared them that much.

The young SC couldn’t sleep a wink.  He laid up in bed, he imagined all of the amazing toys he would wake up to.  Deep down he knew it was nothing more than hopeful thinking, a fantasy.  He didn’t care, if he couldn’t dream what could he do?

Hours passed and nothing happened, no jingling bells or reindeer hoofs.  He imagined that Santa would appear to the music of his own unique sound track.  He looked over at his sister and her breath was shallow but peaceful.  Bored and wired all at once, Space Case decided to head down the hall to the kitchen for a drink of water.

The hall was dark so SC had to navigate the length of the hall by running his hand along the wall.  All he could see was a faint gleam of moonlight reflected off of the smooth surface of the stove.  As the kitchen drew closer SC began to feel a slight tingling sensation in his feet.  The sensation began to travel up his small body.  He breathed in deep as the air around him began to grow thicker.  SC described his walk through the thick air as “a space walk through a wall of jello.”  SC held his breath as he fought his way through the strange haze in the dark hall.  The air returned to normal as quickly as it had first changed.

He nearly tripped over his feet as he slid across the kitchen floor as his slippered feet hit the smooth tile.  He reached out for the stove which brought his slide to an end.  SC’s breathing was rapid, he had no idea what had just happened.  He tip-toed over to the wall to flip on the kitchen light.  Before he could light up the kitchen he heard a noise, like boots grinding against stone.  Space Case froze…

I’ll return to the story when I have the chance.






Magic, could it possibly be real?

Paradox’s story is his northern trek and his photos of living fairies shook me to the bone.

My life has been dedicated to reason, dedicated to using the laws of nature to engineer structures of practical use. I spend most of my waking hours analyzing variables and trying to piece together logical explanations for whatever mystery or problem surfaces. My job depends on it and my personal life is soaked up by it. Only that one strange night when I was thirteen haunts me, it was the one thing in my life I could never explain.

I’m still not convinced by the idea of magic. I am open-minded and I’m willing to consider any possibility that is routed in science. Most established science and technology was once considered impossible or beyond belief. Scientists are shocked by new discoveries every day. Who can really say what exists out in this world both hidden and within view.

With Paradox’s discovery of the fairies I started to wonder, maybe there is a secret world out there. Human society has risen and fallen time and time again. History has been tampered with, this I am certain. Who knows what information was lost when the great library of Alexandria burned to the ground. Maybe some things that were buried preferred the world to never know they existed in the first place.

There are always rumours of secret societies and conspiracy theories floating around on the internet.

If our technology – what is public – has increased so much in the last century who is to say that other technologies weren’t developed in the past but kept out of the public’s eye? There could be instruments and processes so advanced and strange in play that we could only consider them magic or maybe they play such a big role in our lives already that we aren’t the wiser?

For all we know the world might have been threatened by doomsday asteroids many times over the millennium but were prevented by technologies we weren’t even aware of. That is an imaginary example, but you can understand where I’m coming from. With 7 billion people on our planet and limited resources one has to wonder what’s keeping everything from collapsing?

I’ve made good money over the years and I’ve saved well. I’m considering taking time off to really look into some things that have been brought to my attention. I have a lot of theories I’d like to put to the test. I have to really take the time to plan this out. I’ll keep you updated.

– Bear Hunter


Fairies of the North: Part 3.

Where I last left off, my good friend Paradox was deep into his journey into the “Torngat Mountains” in the north of Labrador, Canada.  He was determined to unlock whatever secrets lay within the mysterious land.  A harsh fall onto rock left the hefty explorer with a concussion, soiled snow pants and a brutal lack of sleep.  The loss of his tent in massive snow storm left Paradox with only one option, find shelter.

A sing-song hum pierced its way through the blizzard as Paradox fought his way through the wall of moving snow.  His head pounded, his backpack weighed down on his shoulders, and the smell of his pants had reach the level of eight-month-dead skunk roadkill.

He knew he had to reach some kind of shelter or he was done for.  The problem was, he had no idea where he was going.  The only thing he could think to do was to follow the song of the hum.  With every passing moment it became increasingly more melodic.  Paradox believes that when we find ourselves in our greatest peril that the spirits of the land will hear our pleas and provide us with guidance.  I believe that people hear things when they get their heads bashed in and can’t sleep for two days.  To each their own I suppose.

What Paradox described to me next about his journey I didn’t believe at first… no sane person would.  He said in his own words, “The snow flakes began to twinkle like diamonds and dance in unison like a school of fish.”

I replied, “Are you sure you weren’t dying?”

“Maybe I was.  Maybe it was at the brink of death when they found me.”

That shut me up.

As Paradox approached the “dancing” snowflakes they began to spin and disperse outwards creating an opening.  A tunnel formed before his eyes.  As he walked through the tunnelled the semi-solid walls of falling snow wavered and shifted.  A bright light shone at the end of the tunnel beckoning Paradox to follow.

I asked him again, “Are you sure you weren’t dying?”

“Shush” he replied, and he continued with his tale.

He then heard the song – no longer a hum – as clear as day.  It was the most enchanting song he had ever heard.  Hundreds of tiny voices singing in unison.  As he reached the end of the tunnel Paradox could see the tunnel expand into a massive sphere.  The storm fed into the membrane of the sphere but never penetrated it.  Paradox described it as a massive “inside-out snow globe”.

Within the shifting globe hundreds of tiny lights danced.  They glowed in all the colours of the rainbow.  A blue light descended down onto Paradox’s shivering hand.  The light from the creature warmed his near frost-bitten hand.  As Paradox’s eyes adjusted he could see that the light was in actuality a tiny little naked blue man the size of an X-Men action figure.  The tiny man had small intricate wings that Paradox described as having incredible tensile strength.  Paradox couldn’t pronounce the small fairy’s name so he refers to him as Jim.

Paradox sat on a rock and spoke with Jim for over an hour.  Paradox asked him about his culture and Jim asked Paradox all about the X-Men.  Apparently comic book characters are more interesting than actual people.  Time passed as Paradox spoke with the a couple dozen of the fairies, some male and others female.  He told me, “The fairies were the most gracious of people, the men offered me strange ice candies, they taught me their song and some of the females were very polite when turning down my sexual advances.”

Why exactly – you might ask – when half dead and lost in the arctic would Paradox make sexual advances on tiny fairy people?  “An opportunity is an opportunity.” was Paradox’s answer to that question.  Lucky for all of us and all of them, none of them took the bait.

True to his word, Paradox was not one to waste an opportunity.  As the fairies danced and told their tales he took out his old 35mm camera.  He slipped on an ND filter and a polarization filter – he couldn’t afford any burnout – and he started to click.  The fairies had no idea what a camera was.  They apparently assumed that it was a bigger eye that Paradox was using to see them better.  They had no idea that their images were being captured.

The sweetness of the song, the warmth of the light, the hypnotic sway of the dance, and the lack of sleep took ahold.  Paradox drifted into the sweetest slumber of his life.  When he awoke the next day the sun was shining, his headache was gone and his pants no longer smelled.  All was good except for Paradox’s claim that $100 was missing from his wallet.  Funny thing about Paradox, no matter what story he tells – no matter how positive – he somehow has to be victimized in the end… I don’t understand it.

He could barely believe it had happened himself.  It was the photos he took that kept him a believer.  Perfectly clear and crisp images of the Fairies of the North.  He has entrusted me with the images – I cried myself to sleep one night while looking at them – and I will never reveal them.  One day Paradox may feel the need to share them with the world… I hope his does one day.

I’ve never seen the man happier and his journeys inspire me to put more effort into my own explorations.  I might even join him on one of his expeditions one day.  That would be cool.

– Bear Hunter


Not one of Paradox's photos.  A nice image though.

Not one of Paradox’s photos. A nice image though.

Fairies of the North: Part Two.

A while back I wrote the first part of my friend Paradox’s treacherous journey into the “Torngat Mountains” in Labrador, Canada.  On the second day of his trek the hefty explorer suffered a terrible fall while setting up his tent causing him to smash his head against a rock.  Other than what I believe to be a concussion Paradox walked away unharmed.

The fall did slow him down.  He settled down in camp early.  Afraid to go to sleep – Paradox suspected a concussion himself – he decided to dig into his Elk Jerky and consult his logs, maps, and update his journal.  How he managed all of this with a minor head injury and snow pants frozen solid with urine is beyond me.  If you didn’t catch the first part, Paradox’s body did not react well to the fall, the poor man soiled himself.

Paradox suffers from what I would consider overly obsessive compulsions.  Once he starts something he has to finish it.  His journey had only begun and nothing was going to cut it short.  A good example of his dedication would be the time he stalked a Big Foot expert for two months straight to expose the man as a fraud.  He found the evidence he was looking for but something else as well.  The hoaxer was a CIA agent who was already investigating Paradox.  The watcher was watching the watched as the watched watched him.  Paradox wiped the man’s hard-drive, his servers and left a sex tape on the man’s desktop of Paradox having an affair with the man’s wife.  Paradox doesn’t like being watched… I suspect his alias is starting to make sense to you.  A lot happened in those two months of stake-outs.

Back to the mountains.  After a night of forced insomnia and drying his crotch with a flip-up lighter Paradox was good to set out again.  Lucky for Paradox, the subzero temperature and the pounding headache was enough to keep him awake in spite of no sleep.

The early morning was looking bright… it was summer in the arctic so I suppose it’s always bright.  Paradox was in good spirits.  He spotted a lone polar bear in the distance and he also identified seven unique varieties of lichen.  The man was in paradise.  He fished in a creek and drank from it’s clear waters.  He ran free in the grassy valleys.  He felt a renewed connection to his inner spirit and a connection to the land.  Despite the increasing intensity of the smell emanating from his pants, Paradox was sure that the worst was behind him.

That night Paradox set up camp in the glow of the low hanging sun.  He climbed into his still salvable tent and wrapped himself tight in layers.  The gentle hum of the creek – and his exhaustion – lulled him to sleep.  The banshee wail of a sudden storm jerked him awake.  His head pounded with renewed vigour.  The fabric of his tent shook and rippled like a beluga’s stomach after being paddled by a fisherman’s ore.  Paradox fought agains’t the blankets and furs tightened around his body from uneasy sleep.

A hole in his tent – from the previous accident – whistled a high pitch shrill in the wind like a lost soul desperate to be heard and found.  Paradox has a rare inner ear condition and is sensitive to high pitch sounds… which only served to acerbate his migraine.  The man groaned out loud as he struggled against his furry prison.  The whistle was driving him mad.

After moments of agony that stretched on for eternity, as described to me by Paradox, he managed to free a single arm.  He reached out with great speed and purpose, his finger on a collision course with the hole in the tent.  With the aim of a master archer, Paradox’s finger entered the hole in the tent plugging it up… but for an instant.  By reaching out with such force Paradox had propelled his large form into a roll.  His finger shot through the hole, followed by his arm.  In an attempt to regain his balance Paradox’s arm tore through the tent wall with a vengeance.

The man sighed at the site of the large hole in the side of his tent.  At least the whistle was gone, but hell it was cold.  Paradox began to pry the layers away from his body as a massive gust of wind forced its way into his tent.  The tent inflated like a warm plastic bag full of dry ice.  Paradox held his breath as the ground lost its solidity.

In frantic desperation Paradox thrust off his covers and dragged his weight over to the hole and stuck his head through.  Whether it be evil spirits or the worst storm he had ever seen, Paradox’s tent was now airborne.  He was five feet off the ground and climbing. The flight was short lived as Paradox’s body was slammed into the ground.  Another gust and the tent was airborne only to once again slam into the cold ground.  This repeated time and time again as he scrambled to find his knife.

With knife in hand Paradox slashed away at the fabric.

Freedom came as Paradox fell free from his tent.  He lay flat on his back as he watched his tent rise up into the white sky and out of sight.  It was at this moment that Paradox made a profound life decision, he was going to invest in an RV.

The man stood – head pounding, furs torn and pants reeking – in the howling haze of the storm and screamed at the top of his lungs.  He would not turn back and he would not be defeated.  There was a strange hum in the air, something beyond the snow and wind.  Paradox heard, and he followed.

– Bear Hunter

Not one of Paradox's photos but very nice.

Not one of Paradox’s photos but very nice.

Fairies of the North. Part One.

I’ve met some interesting people over the years.  Most of which have been in the last three years.  I have a friend I met online, he’s quite the character.  I can’t tell you his real name.  He often goes by the alias “Paradox”.   I could only dream of living the life this man has lived.  I can’t give you specifics about the man, he is very secretive.  He does like to share his stories.

One of his more interesting tales he has agreed to let me share.  One thing you need to know about Paradox is that he is an explorer at heart.  The man has travelled to Egypt, the Barmuda Triangle, Tibet, the Amazon and the Middle East.  His mission in life is to solve the world’s greatest mysteries.  Most of his evidence he keeps confined to private archives – I suspect he doesn’t deem the world ready to know.  My favourites are his findings on Jesus Christ but he would disown me if I were to leak any of those online.

For some odd reason Paradox has a fascination with the Canadian north, particularly the remote regions.  He believes that there are great mysteries hidden deep beneath the ice.  One summer he took a trip to Northern Labrador.  It is the northern mainland portion of the province of “Newfoundland and Labrador”.  Labrador resides along the northern Atlantic coastline and borders the province of Quebec.  The northern tip of the province is designated part of the arctic and has a very some population made up primarily of aboriginal peoples.

Paradox decided – evidence or not – he had to explore a region called the “Torngat Mountains” before the end of his days.  Local people believed that the mountains were home to evil spirits.  All that scientists could find inhabiting the area were Caribou and Polar Bears.  Then again, it’s a massive area that few people dare traverse.  Paradox figured that if nothing else he could challenge himself both body and soul.  He also takes giddy pleasure in trekking where few if any had trekked before.

Paradox’s journey began in a small village on the outskirts of the mountains.  He wouldn’t reveal the name of the town to me.  He told me that he didn’t want anyone to retrace his steps, I think he didn’t want any women to retrace his steps.  Paradox has difficulty keeping his travel companion – Baby Yeti – in his pants.  He had some fun stories about local women smiling at him and calling him Big Bear – he’s a big guy.  Paradox spent some time in San Francisco a few years back and had some confusing experiences with men labelling him a bear, and inviting him to underground parties.  Paradox used to love underground parties… up until San Francisco.  Because of San Fran it took Paradox days to realize that these northern women were flirting with him as opposed to labelling him gay.  Just to be clear, my alias “Bear Hunter” has nothing to do with the above subject matter… just so you don’t make any false assumptions about me or how I came to meet Paradox.

After days of experimenting with different methods of boosting body heat in the village Paradox was ready to set out into the wilderness.  The big hairy guy is an expert survivalist.  He’s been hospitalized twice for experimenting with five different types of anti-vemon.  That knowledge saved his life once while in the Amazon, he doesn’t mess around.

His plan, was to hike 20 kilometres into the mountain valleys.  If he found any clues of any unusual phenomenon he planned to return for a more in-depth investigation a few weeks later.  His hike onto the mountains started out to be promising.  The long summer days allowed him to cover a lot of ground in a single day.  For a big guy Paradox has amazing endurance – I’m sure the single women in the village discovered much the same thing.

On day two things started to get rough.  Paradox was setting up his tent on a ridge when he lost his footing and slipped on some ice. Taken by surprise he reached out and grabbed his tent for dear life.  The momentum of his hefty body as it slid down the ridge caused the securely tied and spiked tent to rip clear in half.  Paradox continued to slide down the ridge with shredded tent in hand until his body crash hard against a flat rock.  On the way down he had become rolled up in his own torn tent fabric which bound his arms to his side.  Unable to break his fall Paradox’s head had slammed hard into the flat rock, it knocked him out cold.  He isn’t sure how long he laid there unconscious.  All he remembers was waking up with the tent fabric wrapped around his face and screaming “10 000 foot fall and I’m still alive mother fuckers!”.  In his delirium Paradox had waken up believing he had just jumped out of a plane with a faulty parachute – I can’t confirm if such a thing ever happened to him.  The moment he ripped the fabric from his face only to see icy mountains instead of a muddy field was a shock to his system.  The shock – and possibly a concussion – caused the man lose control of his bladder and soak his best pair of snow pants.  I don’t know why, but he insisted that I made sure I included that detail.  Paradox is a very detail-oriented person.

For the rest of the trip Paradox would have to endure the acrid odour of his own essence.  Despite my skepticism, he stands by the belief that this very odour played a part in attracting the mysterious “allies” he claims came to his rescue during the most treacherous moments of his arctic mountain trek.  I have to get back to work but I will continue with this – hard to belief if it weren’t for the photos he showed me – tale another time.

– Bear Hunter


Not one of Paradox's photos.  I just like the art.

Not one of Paradox’s photos. I just like the art.


Hypothetical Underworld.

It sometime blows my mind how oblivious we can be in our lives.  We get so wrapped up in our hopes, dreams, beliefs and fears.  We see the world through a very specific lens.  I’d like to believe that I see the world through a wide-angle lens.  Maybe a 17mm.  Wide enough to see my periphery but not so wide to have reality skewed or end up with a finicky depth of field.  Yes, I studied photography in my younger days.

We get so caught up in our belief of what is real that new ideas seem implausible or even impossible.  Imagine when ideas – that seem obvious to us today – such as the earth rotating around the sun or humans sharing a common ancestor as apes first hit the public’s ears.  To them it seemed like the imaginings of overactive minds.  Fantasy worlds to entertain and maybe even threaten but certainly not real… how could they be?  Ideas out of the ordinary will always shock no matter how grounded in reality they actually are.  All truths are science fiction/fantasy until proven.  Funny way of looking at things I know.

All this being said, I’m going to play the Devil’s Advocate.  Are their forces beneath the surface influencing our very lives?  Forces that are so far removed from our familiar cultures that any evidence to their existence can be written off as myth?  So outlandish that we wouldn’t even bother looking into any of it.

The character Thor in Marvel Comics is a good example.  “Gods” from another realm coming to Earth to fight an ancient war and protect early human civilization from ice giants.  So outlandish that any recordings of their battles could only be viewed as myth.  I don’t believe in Asgardians and a rainbow bridge but it is a cool example of what I’m getting at.

I hypothesize that there are forces out there with their fingers in all sorts of cultural and economic pies.  I don’t think it’s the Illuminati.  If they are that good and maintaining control they would keep a better low-profile cloaked in unbelievability.  The evidence would lie right in the public’s eye like one giant “bad joke”.  Imagine if the “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” the cartoon was so cheesy to the extreme so that no-one would ever believe in the presence of intelligent humanoid amphibians?  That is an extreme example… or is it?  The best way to distract people is to make them believe that something is so absurd that it could never be real.

I know of people who dedicate their lives to exploring the absurd.  They are disappointed by what they find most of the time, usually dead-ends but every once in a while they stumble onto something really cool… a lead that takes them on a journey they could have never anticipated.  I think that is the greatest thrill of exploration, finding out that you are finally onto something, that you weren’t wasting your time the whole time.  That you aren’t crazy.  What happens then when you start to uncover something people wish stay hidden?  The church did everything they could to mock Darwin’s theory of evolution, similar forces do the same thing in our current day.

I’ll pick up where I left off in a later blog.